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the drip rolling

would be like finding the end of the rainbow
only you weren’t looking for it
to the surprise of not many days left
shaken and stirred, mixed in a way
of never to be separated again
using the hair to cause texture
on the painting, sprinkled with gold dust
matted and framed, could be put on display
for the other to get jealous and have to repent
having a conversation with someone
only no one is there, to tell you if you look bad
or how to use the napkin, at the table of a king
even the swallowing can become hindered at this point.
using the straw is of no use,
for the chickens like gravel, to massage the feet in
while dipping your brush in the red line
and painting the lips, as they read you a book
and the delight of finding another piece
placed in it’s right place, could make it seem real,
to the taste, it is apple pie in the oven,
or on the cinnamon sprinkled plate with cream
at the drive-in they gave two spoons,
and as we entangle ours in the milk shake, the movie
bleeds into one, like watching it all go by
while the train sits still, or on steel

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